


Only Human

by Coymoonrising



Series: Remus Lupin Drabbles [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Hogwarts, Marauders' Era, Moony - Freeform, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coymoonrising/pseuds/Coymoonrising
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every morning, Remus casts a Glamour charm over himself as a part of his morning routine. Even his friends don't know that his teeth are a bit too sharp to be human, or his ears are slightly too pointed. Everyone assumed Greyback looked so inhumane because he was feral. Remus couldn't bring himself to admit that even on the other 27 days of the cycle, he still couldn't pass as human on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only Human

**Author's Note:**

> This was another drabble request given to me at messrsmemoirs.tumblr, by the user andromedatonksneeblack. The idea belongs to her, naturally. I was just honored to write something so fun.

What was it that made someone human? Was it a body, purely? Or was “human” defined by something more, something far less tangible? Was someone’s worth in their blood, or was it all in the words and deeds they left behind? What was it that made a human, human? And was it something that could be stolen?  
  
It was thoughts like these that kept tiny Remus Lupin up at night, and although he had long since gotten older those questions had only seemed to grow with him. It wasn’t as though those questions didn’t directly affect his very life: Lord knows the Prophet was full of stories about new legislation against the werewolves. Nobody could decide whether they should be shunted into the Beast or Beings division, and worse yet it was not an accident that made it appear that nobody wanted them. Those questions that kept him up at night were fueled by the public speculation and the government controversy, and sometimes, alone on those miserable, rainy nights, Remus wondered whether he were human at all. They were what brought him down to the Common Room before anyone else in the morning, casually explained away as part of an “early bird” lifestyle. It was what drew him into the bathroom for long periods, hidden away from the world. It was what drew him to hate everything he saw in the mirror.

Staring down at his hands as they clutched the marble sink, Remus traced old scars with his eyes. He could still see the blood pouring from the silver glass embedded in his skin as his mother ran for bandages and his father enchanted the mirror whole again. He could still see the lines traced by years of transformation on his arms, and he could still see the black circles under eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness. Remus was the only one awake at this hour. It was just him—alone, with his demons. And he dared not look at himself, lest those nightmares become reality.  
  
It was here, in the comforting candlelight of predawn, that Remus became himself. It was here that he endured his most grueling transformation by the light of day. Here, he was not a student, but an artist, rendering beauty from a rotten husk. Here, he became human.  
  
“Glamour,” it was called—the spell that made him into something he could never be. Of course it hurt, he thought to himself when he’d learned it all those years ago. Beauty was not attained without sacrifice. And with one hand pointing his wand at his face, the other turned ghost-white and gripped the sink for dear life as a sickening crunch saw his pointed ears turn round.  
  
Again, he said, after pausing for breath. Again, the joints in his fingers burned as they begged him to stop, but he pressed himself into the marble further as his teeth cracked and sharp tips fell in splinters into the sink to be washed away by cool water.  
  
Again, he said.  
  
Again. Again. Again.  
  
This was the true curse, Remus mused, panting hard. He blinked away salty tears as the pain receded, hating himself for being so weak. He was not yet halfway done. But the knock on the door sent his wand clattering to the floor, and Remus watched the doorknob jiggle with panic in his throat.  
  
“Oi, Moony,” James Potter called through the darkly stained wood. He knocked on it again, softer this time. “Hurry it up in there. I have to be on the field in an hour.”  
  
Of course—how could Remus have forgotten? Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff was only a few days away. It was the last game of the season, and each team was vying for use of the pitch at all hours. Today was Gryffindor’s last chance to practice before the big game—of course they would get up early today.  
  
“I’ll be finished in a minute,” he lied, shooting a pleading look towards the reflection in the mirror. It offered him no pity, continuing to mock him with each flick of the candlelight.  
  
He heard James’ feet shuffle off somewhere he hoped was far away, and Remus grit his teeth as he cast another, stronger Glamour charm over himself. He almost cried out.  
  
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he should have to do this—Remus was not like them, not like the man who had forced this life on him. Fenrir Greyback was a monster, and he deserved his ghastly appearance. Remus had once pitied him, before learning of who—and what—he was. But it had become clear that whatever Fenrir Greyback had been before, he was human no more.  
So why him? Why did Remus need to suffer the same fate? Why was he cursed to look so beastly, when he only desired to be human? Why was it that he endured the agony of this ritual again and again—why was it that he perpetuated this lie? Werewolves couldn’t claim the title of “human being.” Even in the twenty-seven days that they were harmless, they still didn’t look it. The disease mutated the infected, turning them feral and savage. Pointed ears, savage teeth, ghastly, animalistic eyes… And those were only the beginning. Depending on how bad the transformation itself was, Remus may look better or worse depending. Everything about him fluctuated with the moon, and he was a drowning swimmer in a sea of raging tides.  
  
Remus covered his mouth with his free hand, muffling a small, involuntary noise as his nose gave a loud CRACK and straightened. He wiped away the small trickle of blood, washing it away with the faucet. He wanted to collapse. He wanted to become nothing. He wanted to be somebody else, somebody who was normal—anybody else. He ran his fingers over his forehead and across his scalp, feeling the softness of his hair against the dry desert of his hands. He wished they were his mothers, soothing him to sleep with a lullaby that faded into dreams. He wished his fingertips could race freely across his skin without stumbling over the riverbeds of scars. He ran his thumb across his cheek, tracing one such blemish as it stretched over the bridge of his nose and stopped under his eye. It burned as he followed it with a wand, banishing it from view. The air was thick with the smell of burnt hair and iron.  
  
“Moony,” James came again, more urgently this time. “Seriously, mate, are you gonna take all day in there? I’m sure the girls have got plenty of hairbrushes and mirrors you can borrow. I _need_ to get in there!”  
  
Remus wanted to come up with some smart reply that would send Prongs and his prying eyes away. But the words were impossible to place and he stood staring at the door.  
  
“Come on,” Prongs said. “Let me in. You really think I care about what’s under your robes?”  
  
Of course he didn’t care. He had seen Remus transform in the Shack countless times. Modesty was not something they were concerned about preserving when clothes would only hinder the process of shifting. Remus had almost grown used to them seeing him in the nude—at least as well as could be expected. And he only wished that were the problem facing him in the present.  
  
“Give me a minute,” he blurted, helpless. How he wished he could have made it to the privacy of the Prefect’s bathroom. How he wished he could have made it anywhere else but here.  
  
“Moony, look—,” James fidgeted with the knob again. “I’m coming in, ‘right?”  
  
“No, James, wait—!”  
  
It was over before he could object: James stood in the doorway, an odd expression making illegible headlines across his face. Before him, a half-finished Remus pressed himself against the sink, refusing to meet his eye. The sink pooled with cold water that had an uncomfortably pink tinge, and off to the side a crumpled flannel lay drying in a heap.  
  
“Moony…”  
  
“Please leave,” Remus said, forcing his words into slow, calm syllables. “Please.”  
  
But James seemed to have abandoned all sense of urgency. He took a step closer, and from his view in the mirror Remus could see the look of pity and sadness on his face. It made him sick. His insides burned with shame, and he grit his teeth together.  
  
“Remus,” James said, and finally he did look at him. James stopped, staring at the face of someone he only half-recognized. “So this is why—“  
  
“Why I get up before everyone else,” Remus confirmed. “Yes.”  
  
“Merlin… Moony, I had no idea. I’m sorry,” James offered, and Remus managed to shrug. He couldn’t bring himself to lighten his expression, and he hated the frown that further contorted his features.  
  
“It’s just… a part of life,” he responded, and he supposed it was just so. What more could he say, now that he had been outed as a monster? He should have known one of them would have stumbled across this news sooner or later, though perhaps not so literally. Finding out he was a werewolf was only half the truth, and Remus had been content to keep that to himself. Perhaps now, having discovered the full extent of his lies, they would finally figure out that a werewolf was never to be trusted.  
  
“I’m sorry, Moony,” James said again, and his expression was wracked with sympathy.  
  
Remus shook his head. “Please go, James,” he said again, turning away.  
Without another word, James gathered his things and closed the door silently behind him.  
  
It was another half-hour before Remus emerged from the bathroom, tucking the collar of his robes down and smoothing the fronts. He checked his tie and straightened his prefect badge, trekking back up through the dormitory with his head bowed. He was in no mood for conversation, and the lack of people along the way made the journey smooth. Reaching his bed beside the window, Remus glanced from the window down past the morning fog to the sloping grounds. Somewhere below, the Forbidden Forest went on for miles. It was a scene out of a fantasy, and often on those sleepless nights he would gaze out across the black expanse imagining what sort of things took place under the cover of moonlight. He imagined himself as a hero, a true embodiment of Gryffindor. But the human face he now saw reflected in the glass was only a cowardly disguise.  
  
He sighed, reaching for his school bag below his nightstand. Stepping back towards the door, he almost missed it: a small piece of parchment, placed clumsily atop his unmade bed. The lettering was jagged and direct, written in small strokes that spoke of neither grandiosity nor mediocrity. James had left the note for him, and the façade Remus had worked so hard to put up cracked like that childhood mirror as he read the words. Written there in still-wet ink were the words Remus would cherish for the rest of his life:  
  
‘ _Remus_ ,’ it said, ‘ _just know that you are the most human of us all._ ’


End file.
